Politicking
by pouncepounce
Summary: Five years after the end of the Reaper War, Councillor Garrus Vakarian struggles to maintain peace and stability throughout the galaxy; something is wrong, but he can't tell what. He decides to take matters into his own hands. Not quite like old times.
1. Chapter 1

Five years have passed since Commander Shepard, the Saviour of the Galaxy, or just Jane to him, disappeared into the blue energy of the Crucible and apparently took control over the Reapers. Garrus was never sure if it truly was _her_ inside of those megalithic machines, but he would never confirm; once the Reapers had finished repairing the Mass Relays, the entire fleet had retreated back into dark space, never to be seen again.

"We _need_ to act now," Garrus declared, both palms firmly planted on the desk at which he sat, "It's only a matter of time before the public realise what's happening."

"Realise what, Councillor Vakarian?" asked Councillor Salini, the bright white lights overhead highlighting the markings which ran along her scalp crests. She almost looked stern, with her arms crossed, but still maintained a cool aura; it was so very typical of an asari.

Garrus knew that Salini and the other Councillors around the room were already aware of what he was implying, but he said it anyways, just as a formality, "That the galaxy is falling apart. Conflicts, both internal and interspecies, have increased substantially over the past five years, and so has terrorism, which has, alarmingly, increased threefold." Garrus formed a fist in his right hand in frustration. Shepard had given them, the galaxy, a second chance; he'd be damned if he was going to let it go to waste. "But first, we need to admit to ourselves that there is a _real_ problem arising; ignoring it won't make it go away, just like the Reapers."

A dark silence filled the room as the Councillors turned their thoughts back to the Reapers.

Garrus broke the silence, "We need to deploy Turian peacekeeping troops into Batarian space."

"Absolutely not," the Batarian Councillor, Korvan, spoke up immediately, "So far the terrorism has been managed to be contained within Batarian space. We will handle this matter internally."

"I agree," Salini added, nodding to Korvan, "Sending in troops would only worsen the situation. We do not want to act disproportionately under the public eye."

Garrus gritted his teeth. In his younger days, he would have burst out of the meeting right then and deployed _himself_ into the action, but he was older now and those days were behind him. He couldn't afford to act rashly, not with so much at stake. "Of course," he muttered in resignation, "Fine. We will hold off on the troops. Now, what is next on the agenda?"

Garrus remained silent for the rest of the private Council meeting, deep in thought about how he was going to approach this problem. There was no way in hell he was just going to just sit by and watch as the second chance that Shepard had given them crumbled to pieces under his watch.

But for that he needed information. Hierarchy Intelligence wasn't a possibility; there was no one he knew there that he could trust with the level of discretion he required, which really only left one other choice.

He would need to rely on the services of a Spectre, but which one? No one else could know about Garrus' connection to the operations he was about to orchestrate; if word go out that one of the Councillors was overstepping their boundaries and meddling in foreign affairs through the use of Spectres, public opinion and unrest could get out of hand very quickly and it would compromise his position on the Council.

Garrus needed a Spectre with _personal_ loyalty to him, but he couldn't think of any, until it struck him.

As the meeting ended and all of the Councillors left the chambers on their separate ways, Garrus was already making a call with his omnitool to his assistant, Verran Kol, "Set up a QED meeting with Commander James Vega, Systems Alliance. Urgent business." Hanging up after his assistant confirmed, Garrus rushed towards his motorcade, consisting of three heavy armoured skycars, with his security close by his sides.

* * *

Back in his office, it was several hours until Vega called Garrus via the QED. The device was placed at the centre of the square office, and in front of it was the grand desk at which Garrus sat.

The holographic image of Vega appeared, floating above the device. He looked a little older than when Garrus last saw him, which was at the fourth annual Shepard Memorial, held on her birthday in her honour, last year.

The Commander looked tired, he had probably just returned from a mission, but he had a look of energetic determination in his eyes, unwavering. A look Garrus wore in the past himself, once upon a time. Arms linked together relaxedly behind his back, he stood with his chest puffed out, wearing the N7 logo on his uniform proudly.

"Vega," Garrus greeted, "It's been a while. How have things been on your side?"

"Same old, Scars," Vega replied, crossing his arms with a light smirk, "You getting tired of playing politician yet?"

" _'Yet'?_. I've looking for an out from this position ever since I got it," Garrus replied, leaning back into his seat. He was _half_ joking, of course.

Shortly after the end of the Reaper War, Garrus was appointed to be the new Turian councillor, replacing his predecessor, Sparatus, who had lost his life during the conflict. Garrus had hated it at first; he had only been appointed as a temporary Councillor by Primarch Victus, until Relay connections had been restored, since the Citadel had just happened to be near Earth. It was just logistics.

The plan had always been to step down once the galactic infrastructure had been re-established to a sufficient level; give the position to someone who actually wanted the damn job, he had said, but the Primarchs thought that he was exactly what the Turians and the rest of the galaxy needed. A strong and cunning Councillor with a history of excellence and a great sense of honour and service and to top it all off, his efforts had been "instrumental", as they had put it, in their victory against the Reapers. He was also known to have been one of the most trusted allies of the late Commander Shepard.

At first it had felt like he had been forcibly ripped out of the military world and rammed into a political one. Now, he just looked at it as a different way to serve. Instead of ripping through the red tape, he _weaved_ in between the gaps; a more delicate game. Hell, he was responsible for putting up his own red tape nowadays.

Vega and Garrus shared a light chuckle before heading straight into the matter at hand. They were both busy men, after all. "Look," Garrus said, "We're old friends so I'm going to keep it short. Are you interested in becoming a Spectre?"

This noticeably affected the still relatively young Commander, but he gathered his composure quickly. "When do I start?"


	2. Chapter 2

After weeks of screenings, tests and background checks, there Vega was standing within the Council chambers in front of all of the Citadel representatives, to be inducted into the Spectres. Unlike Shepard's induction, Vega's was more private; there was no public crowd and no media coverage. Garrus wanted to keep everything downplayed, after all. This did not raise any suspicion from the other Councillors, however, as it was how Spectre proceedings were usually handled; Shepard was just a special case.

"You are now formally granted the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch of the Citadel," Councillor Salini said, the asari still at the forefront of galactic politics, "Spectres are chosen, not trained, the embodiment of an ideal. They are both the right and left hands of the Council in our efforts to maintain galactic security."

James stood at attention, spine straight and eyes forward, and gave a formal salute for several seconds before lowering his arm.

"This meeting is adjourned," Salini finished, before she and the other Councillors dispersed into several different hallways connected to the main chamber.

* * *

"Congratulations," Garrus said, shaking the fresh new Spectre's hand, "You're in the big leagues now, Vega."

The two of them were in Garrus' office now, sitting across each other in identical leather couches, each with enough space to fit three people, or two Krogans.

Vega, who was sitting with his back comfortably low on the couch, gave a nod and a light grin, "And I'm keen on getting to work."

Glad that the soldier had such a strong sense of duty and loyalty, Garrus leaned forward a little, placing his elbows on his thighs with his hands linked together, "I need you to investigate the terror attacks in Batarian space, mainly in Khar'shan."

Khar'shan, the Batarian home world and capital, had managed to rebuild a significant amount of what was lost with the aid of the other races after the war. There were less outright lies presented by the Batarian government these days; they relied on transparency now to gain support from other governments. It sounded good on paper, but Garrus new better than that. People adapt in hardship, but once things start to get a little comfortable again, it was a different story entirely.

"Most of it will just be scouting and recon," Garrus continued, "You'll have to be discreet. The other Councillors aren't aware of this operation."

Vega considered what his old friend had just told him; they had endured hell together, but Garrus _was_ a politician now, and you could never be too careful around them. "Damn, Scars," James said, crossing his arms, "No direct combat? You _know_ it isn't exactly my strong point, right?"

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint," Garrus replied, his sub-harmonics giving off the equivalent of a smirk, "But, _you_ are the person I trust the most in the Alliance with a covert operation like this, believe it or not."

Kaidan Alenko, the second Human Spectre, was a little too by the books and loyal to the brass and the higher ups that Garrus could never completely trust him to be discreet. Hell, Garrus considered Alenko to be a _part_ of the brass nowadays.

"Alright, alright," Vega resigned with a raised hand, "I'll keep skycar rams to a minimum, I swear."

"Good. You'll be deploying as soon as you can," Garrus said, standing up to signify that their business was over, "Obviously I won't be micromanaging, but I'll need a full mission report once you're finished. Good luck."

"Aye, aye," Vega replied with an enthusiasm and determination that gave comfort to Garrus; he knew he had chosen the right person for the job.

A relaxed mock salute and Vega was striding out of the office, off to get his hands dirty in the mud. Garrus silently wished that it could be him going out into the field. He glanced at the neatly piled stack of datapads placed upon his desk. Garrus had always been neat, ever since he could remember; his father had made sure of it with his traditional upbringing, and it stuck throughout his military career. It was a good way of maintaining a sense of normalcy, a stark contrast to the constant chaos of service on the field. But now, there was no field work. He knew there was plenty of chaos _out there_ , but _in here_ , it almost felt sterile.

Ever so slightly, Garrus pushed the pile of datapads over, causing the neat little stack to topple over his desk.


	3. Chapter 3

Several weeks had passed since Vega's deployment into Batarian space. There was to be no communication during his deployment in order to remain under the radar; it was like using a sniper rifle, something Garrus was quite used to. If you came across a good position without the enemy realising, you had better make the first shot count; soon after you deliver that initial slug they'll be coming right after you.

Still, it was unsettling for Garrus to be in the dark, not that it was something he was unused to. It had been something he had faced constantly during the Reaper War, with more on the line. The difference was that _back then_ he had Shepard.

Garrus glanced at the portrait photo of the Saviour of the Galaxy that he had propped up on his desk, facing towards him with that bright red hair and blinding smile that had once been his shining beacon through the dark times. It still was, actually.

However, all he had now were memories, which acted as a reminder. A reminder of _what_ , Garrus couldn't exactly tell; all he knew was that it made him feel at ease, at peace, just as when he had met Shepard for the first time. There was something about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, as Humans would say, but that _something_ was strong enough for the people around her to follower the Commander into hell itself.

And back, of course.

"Vakarian," Executor Chellick called out to the seemingly distracted Councillor sitting in front of him, "Is this a bad time?" The words were not filled with compassion, but with frustration.

"No, not at all. My apologies," Garrus replied quickly, snapping out of his day dream, "It's been a long few days, organising relief efforts for several Turian colonies."

Although the core worlds of the Council species had been restored and rebuilt at an extremely rapid rate, in exchange for impressive progress on the larger planets, the smaller and more sparsely populated colony worlds had been inevitably neglected. Years later, some of the mid-level colonies were only _finally_ receiving some support from the Council.

"Our people are dying out there," Chellick spat, in well controlled anger, at the Councillor's apparent disinterest in the matter, "We _need_ more funding. The weapons and armour we currently have at our disposal just simply aren't enough. The crime rate has been increasing steadily over the past five years and C-Sec casualties have near doubled over the past year!"

"Look!" Garrus exclaimed in equal frustration, "I've heard what you've said and I'll tell you what I told you the last time you came here. Our spending deficits are just too high at this point and we're stretching out the finances far too thin as it already stands. We increase spending anymore, we'd have to increase taxes on all sectors, and if we do that then it would significantly hinder relief efforts."

Most of the funding for relief efforts came from donations by the Citadel's upper class; taxes were mostly spent on rebuilding the Citadel itself. If taxes were raised, the donations, from those who already have more than enough, would undoubtedly lessen, so either the tax revenue would have to be diverted back towards funding the relief efforts or for C-Sec. Either way, it was only a matter of shifting equity; there was no scenario in which everyone could win.

The whole doesn't get any bigger, no matter which way you split it.

"Refugees won't die from losing a few shelters," Chellick pleaded, "It's a damn slaughterhouse out there."

 _Like fish in a barrel,_ Garrus grimaced and he _did_ sympathise, he truly did, but he stood his ground. "Are you listening to yourself, Executor? Your officers _signed up_ for the job, and you're telling me that _helpless_ civilians should suffer so that they can take it a little easy?"

"A little easy?" Chellick repeated softly in shock, clearly insulted.

"You fight for C-Sec. I fight for the _entire_ Turian Hierarchy." Garrus finished.

Suddenly, Chellick stood up from his chair in front of Garrus' desk, chest puffed out and glaring down at his subordinate-turned-politician. "I will be leaving now," Chellick declared in attempted calm, "Good day, Councillor."

"Executor," Garrus replied, standing up to see his former superior officer out of the room, which gave him an odd feeling; it was only less than a decade ago that it was he himself who was often caught storming out of Chellick's office.

As Garrus sat back down into his office chair, his omnitool pinged to notify him of the arrival of a new message.

 _Meet me in apartment 1B of Block 22 in the Presidium Commons._

 _I'll be waiting._

 _JV_

* * *

Garrus had told his personal C-Sec detail that he was just going out for a run; they'd insisted upon tailing him, but he ordered them to stay. Although he had no official power within the law enforcement agency, he garnered a large amount of respect from the officers. Apparently he was something of a legend, much to his amusement.

Garrus lightly jogged through the Presidium in his rather uncomfortably tight sports attire, eventually arriving at the address mentioned in the message. The door displayed a red circle in the centre, so Garrus stepped forward and knocked on the door.

"It's me," Garrus declared with a lowered voice.

The doors to the apartment opened, revealing a small studio room; it had no windows, a bed, a small table with some chairs and a door leading to what Garrus assumed was the bathroom.

"Garrus. Glad you could make it," Vega greeted, waiting to continue until the doors had shut behind his friend, "I know you're a busy man these days."

"Indeed I am Vega, which is why I hope you won't be wasting my time," Garrus replied, crossing his arms; he then loosened his posture, less authoritative and a little friendlier, "Glad you made it home in on piece."

"I have to admit, there were a few close calls," Vega said with a smirk, "But you know how good I am."

"Use another Batarian as a landing pad this time around?" Garrus asked, remembering the friendly competition they had back on the Normandy, "Hope you got the job done in between all the heroics."

"I did," Vega nodded in confirmation, "And no one even noticed I was there."

"Nice," Garrus said, "So, the intel?"

"You'll want to take a seat for this," James replied as he took a seat at the coffee table, upon which lay a stack of several data pads.

Garrus was handed a datapad from across the table as he took the seat opposite the gruff looking soldier. It was a summary of the conflict within Batarian space so far; casualty estimates, financial records and the names of the brass floated around the datapad as Garrus navigated through its contents.

"It's not good, Vakarian," James said from across the table, hands clasped together atop its surface, "And I've got a feeling it's not going to get any better."

"You're right," Garrus grimaced, "Casualty counts are skyrocketing and it looks like they're mobilising the big guns now." Garrus flicked his talon on the datapad, zooming onto the descriptions of the various weapons that the Batarian factions currently had within their arsenal. "Why are they fighting in the first place?"

"Here," James slid over another datapad across the table, "From what I gathered, it's a fight between expansionists and those who want to just take it slow. Of course, _as usual,_ things got heated and out of hand, _fast_. When the expansionists were about to invade neighbouring space, those who were against it had no choice but to fight back."

Garrus nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes still glued to the datapad in hand, "It was either risk nearly the entire Batarian race being annihilated by the Turian peacekeeping fleet or to attempt to contain the situation within local space." He didn't blame them for fighting back. The Batarians were pushed to the brink of extinction once; he doubted they would care to go back to that state again.

"So far, it's simple enough, right?" Vega asked rhetorically before sliding yet another datapad towards Garrus, "Take a look at this."

Picking up the third datapad, Garrus scrolled through its contents quickly before looking up towards Vega, "Newly found eezo mines in Batarian space?"

"It'd be a huge economic boost to the Batarians if they were able to take advantage of all that eezo," James said as he leaned back into his chair, "You ask me? I think the top brass on either side of their war, or at least some of them, want a piece of this pie."

Garrus didn't quite catch the idiom, but he understood what the soldier had meant; they were fighting over resources. _War as usual,_ Garrus thought, but something wasn't right. He looked back to the first datapad that Vega had handed him, which contained information regarding the weapons that the Batarian militants had been observed to use by the Spectre himself.

"Geth Pulse Rifles? M-98 Widows? These are some high grade weapons for a bunch of rebels and warlords," Garrus pondered aloud.

"I thought so too. You think there's more to this story?" Vega asked.

"I do," Garrus replied, setting the datapad down and crossing his arms, "They're getting them from outside Batarian space, but who would supply them?"

"Give me the word," Vega said with a cocky but determined grin on his face, "And I'll look into it."

"Same conditions as before," Garrus declared with a nod, "Search far and wide and look for any clues." With that, he rose from his seat, shook Vega's hand and headed for the door.

Garrus paused to turn back before he exited the room, "Good luck, Commander."

"Aye, aye," Vega returned with a mock salute, and the door closed between them.

Returning to a light jog, Garrus casually made his way back towards his office, ignoring the sharp sting in the ribs that he felt nowadays when he exerted himself in any amount; the injuries during the War had racked up, especially those he had gotten during the last run towards the Beam.

His mind drifted back to that moment, strangely wishing he was back there just so he could be with Shepard _just one last time._

He clutched at his side in reminiscence.


	4. Chapter 4

Garrus hurriedly strode through the halls of the Citadel Tower, heading towards the Council Chambers. His meeting with Primarch Victus had taken longer than expected; the older turian was keen to organise Council supply drops for some colonies sitting on the outer edges of Hierarchy space. But now he was late.

Garrus agitatedly spammed the elevator button as he waited for it to arrive at his level. It was beyond him how they could travel from star system to star system and they'd even survived the Reapers, but elevators were so damn slow.

Finally it arrived and Garrus stepped inside. "Sir! Hold the door!" he heard his assistant call from behind before he came dashing into the elevator, looking more than a little dishevelled. "We have a problem with Chellick, sir," Verran panted out.

"Explain," Garrus demanded, crossing his arms as he patiently waited for his subordinate to catch his breath.

Once his breathing was at least partially less erratic, Verran did his best to regain his composure, as was proper for a turian to do in front of his superior, "He's catching onto your investigation regarding the Batarians."

Garrus fluttered his mandibles in annoyance, "Security recordings?"

He cursed silently when Verran nodded in confirmation. He'd actually anticipated this move, Chellick was the C-Sec Executor, after all, but now he realised he had underestimated how quickly the man would catch on.

"Get whatever information you can on him, anything we can use," Garrus ordered after a moment of consideration, "I don't care how. Just do it."

Verran, as a lower ranking officer, had been assigned to Garrus during his C-Sec years. The kid had always had a sharp mind, and like himself, had been willing to do what was necessary to keep the streets safe. By the time Garrus had returned to the Citadel to take up the position of Councillor, Verran had become a full-fledged C-Sec detective. He was smart and loyal, just the person Garrus needed. Verran had pounced at the opportunity when he had offered him the position of Chief Secretary to the Turian Councillor.

The younger turian was someone Garrus could count on to get the job done.

"Right away," Verran acknowledge as the elevator doors opened, "Have fun in there, sir."

"Thanks," Garrus replied sarcastically before heading straight towards the Chambers.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, Garrus was sitting in his office, going through some financial reports when his omnitool alerted him of a private message. It was on his personal encrypted channel, which meant it could only be from a select few individuals.

 _Situation is bigger than I thought._

 _Councillor Salini is prime suspect._

 _I need more time to investigate._

 _JV_

As short and succinct as the message was, Garrus read and reread the thing several times over, especially the second line. _Councillor Salini is prime suspect._ This revelation shocked him only for a moment though; logistically, it all made sense. Both sides of the Batarian conflict were being supplied with high grade weapons, seemingly from nowhere. Weapons didn't just pop out of thin air, especially those as big as the ones the Batarians were shooting each other with. Someone like Salini could definitely pull some strings to make it happen, but what eluded Garrus was the asari Councillor's _motive_. What would she gain from doing such a thing? Was it just for a cut of those new eezo mines? To make matters worse, he only knew who was arming one side of the conflict; who was providing for the other? And he didn't even know _which_ side she was supporting.

He was tempted to send a reply message, but Vega was already taking on a huge risk by transmitting over the comm channel in the first place, no matter how well encrypted. Garrus knew he was being monitored by Chellick, and Vega was probably deep in hostile territory; communications silence was key for the both of them.

 _Silence is golden_ , he mused, remembering one of the many odd 'first encounters' he had shared with Shepard.

And then it clicked. There _was_ someone else he could contact, someone who wasn't being watched, someone completely under the radar. Garrus tapped his omnitool to open a communications line, leaning comfortably back on his leather padded chair. Kasumi Goto was the perfect choice.

Garrus would have asked Liara for a request like this, but she was no longer the Shadow Broker; in fact, nobody was. The not-so-young asari had disappeared shortly after the war had ended, leaving behind only one method of contacting her; a quantum entanglement communicator only to be used for an _absolute_ emergency, she'd emphasised. Comms didn't get much securer than a QED, which seemed quite important to her when she had left, although Garrus had no idea why. He suspected none of the other ex-Normandy crew knew either.

The other side of the communications line picked up.

"It's been too long, _Councillor_ ," Kasumi emphasised cheekily.

"Indeed it has," Garrus replied, his mandibles twitching in amusement, "I'd say that's partly your fault, though. You can be a _little_ hard to get a hold of."

"Flatterer," the thief said with an audible smirk. "So, what's up? Has the time finally come for the big shot politician to start reconnecting with his old, plebeian friends, or…" she trailed off.

"Sorry to disappoint," Garrus replied, this time it was his turn to smirk with his subharmonics, "But this isn't _exactly_ a social call."

"What is it? You want me to steal something? Please tell me you want me to steal something," Kasumi begged, her voice dripping with mischief.


	5. Chapter 5

Garrus was at his desk when he heard his receptionist, a turian woman, on the other side of the door, "Sir, wait! You have to make an appointment before-"

Executor Chellick came bursting in through the door before Gaila could finish. "We should talk," he said threateningly as he continued to rush towards Garrus, only stopping right at the very edge of the desk, " _Shouldn't we?"_

Gaila, who was looking a little panicked, left hurriedly out the door when Garrus signalled to her that it was alright to leave.

"What would you like to discuss, Executor?" Garrus asked calmly, playing it safe. In reality, he knew exactly why the man had come in such a rush.

"I _know_ , Vakarian," Chellick announced, his middle talon pointed accusingly towards Garrus, "I know about you sending your fresh new Spectre off on an unsanctioned mission-"

" _Unsanctioned_?" Garrus interrupted, jumping out of his chair, "This is a Spectre we're talking about. They can bypass official proceedings under the Council's orders."

" _Exactly_ ," Chellick said, as if springing a trap, "The _Council's_ orders. All of the Councillors are legally required to give their authorization, via the Vote of Executive Action, for a Spectre to be deployed by the Citadel."

The Vote of Executive Action was a hard coded part of the Citadel Constitutional Law, one of the oldest and, to some, the most sacred pieces of the constitution which dated right back to when the asari and the salarians first formed the Council. If the Vote was passed, the Councillors reserved the right to carry out any action they deemed was in the best interests of the Citadel and her people, bypassing all legal processes. The key was that for it to pass, _every_ acting Councillor must have had voted for it; if a single one voted against it, the vote would not pass. This function of the constitution had really only ever been used for the sanctioning of Spectre operations; most other times, at least one of the three Councillors had voted against it. Post Reaper War, with the induction of all of the new Council races, the Vote had never been passed since, barring those which regarded Spectres deployments.

"And you're implying that they didn't? I dare you to ask _any_ of the Councillors about classified mission briefings, let alone those regarding a Spectre. They'd just laugh in your face, Chellick."

Chellick's subharmonics sounded predatory, "Ah, but you see, I already did. One of the Councillors was more than happy to alert me of your wrongdoings."

Now _that_ was something Garrus was unprepared for. How did they find out, and why on Palaven's moons would they tell the damn C-Sec Executor? _Do the words 'political shitstorm' mean anything to you?_

"So now you have a choice," Chellick said as he leaned forward over the desk in a show of dominance, "I bring this to light under the public eye, have you sacked for abuse of power, and I _bury_ you in hearings and trials until the very day you join the Spirits themselves." The Executor leaned back, clasping his hands together behind his back, "Or, you sign a funding contract that makes sure my officers are all sufficiently trained and equipped to handle the streets."

Garrus considered the offer for a moment. Although what Chellick was demanding wasn't socioeconomically viable, from a legal prospective, it was something entirely feasible; each of the Councillors were allotted varying portions of the tax revenues collected throughout Council space. There was, of course, a primary pool of revenues to be spent in a joint manner under _all_ of the Councillors' consent, but their individual portions were to be spent for the public as they each saw fit.

Garrus silently commended the Executor; the man had almost had him, but _almost_ didn't quite cut it. Unluckily for Chellick, Garrus had an 'ace in the hole', just as Shepard had _always_ seemed to have had in their many rounds of Skyllian Five.

"How about neither?" Garrus asked, slowly stepping around the desk towards Chellick's side.

For a moment the Executor wore a look of pure and simple confusion, before it was replaced by one of frustration, "There are _no_ other options! Quit stalling and sign the damn contract. You and I both know that you will, eventually."

"What makes you so sure? What if _I_ know some sensitive things about _you_? About how you bury evidence and bribe judges, just to name a few," Garrus said, his voice sounding almost malicious.

It had honestly surprised him when he'd heard from Verran what he had uncovered after some careful digging, putting his detective skills to good use. Garrus had always thought of Chellick as a safe, conservative and moderate turian, although it was apparent now that it was actually quite the opposite. It made a certain kind of sense though; you didn't become Executor if you were public about how much of a _bad turian_ you were.

Shock was plastered across Chellick's face, his mandibles twitching wildly, "You're bluffing."

Garrus promptly sent the Executor several documents, photographs and recordings via omnitool, all of which could be presented as incriminating evidence. "And that's just a _small_ sample of what I have on you."

Chellick's eyes widened as he looked at the files, before briefly shutting tight in anguish. " _Some_ people have to bend the rules to keep the _real_ criminals locked up!" he defended almost desperately, "You of all people should know that."

"I do, and I'd hate to see all of the good work you've done on this station become undone," Garrus agreed, and to an extent he actually did, although he _did_ think that some of Chellick's methods were a little too extreme. "So how about we leave each other alone and we forget that this conversation ever happened?"

Chellick clenched his fists so tightly that Garrus thought his talons would draw blood from his palms. "Fine," was all the man said before he excused himself out of the room looking defeated, considerably less energy in his stride than when he had entered.

After the doors to his office closed, Garrus slumped back onto his desk, leaning on the edge. It'd been close; without Verran he would have been out of the game for good, possibly even behind bars. Although he could safely say that his situation with Chellick was under control, at least for now, there was no room to let his guard down yet.

 _One of the Councillors was more than happy to alert me of your wrongdoings._

He already had an idea of who it might have been that had plotted against him; Salini. If he was right, the situation was troubling indeed. If she _had_ caught onto what he was investigating and had opted to take him down discreetly, she was probably hiding something too. But before he could make a move, he needed leverage; facts, not just hunches. Good thing he already had one of the best of the best on the job. All he could do now was to wait for Kasumi to get him some of that sweet, sweet intel.


	6. Chapter 6

Several days had passed rather uneventfully and Garrus found himself at a fundraiser, rubbing shoulders with some of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy. It was huge; every figurehead he could think of was there.

Politicians, high ranking military officers and billionaire magnates mixed and mingled under the ridiculous chandelier, sipping on their cocktails and exchanging pleasantries, the public servants trying to get as much as they could out of the wealthy. He guessed that the total net worth of the room went into the hundreds of billions, hence the unprecedented turn up of VIPs, including himself.

If things went well, Garrus would be able to give Chellick everything that he was demanding and more, _without_ sacrificing the needs of the refugees.

For now, though, he'd somehow managed to get himself free of the crowd and had found himself a quiet spot in the corner; they were like hounds and would soon be after him again, no doubt, or he'd have to do the hounding himself. Garrus took a long swig of his brandy and looked down at his feet, examining the immaculate detail and construction of his bespoke dress shoes. It was a nice change though, he guessed, as he enjoyed his temporary solace. It was better than fighting the Reapers, that was for sure, but he was going to need at least _two_ more drinks if he was going to get through the night with his sanity intact.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he prepared to put on his most pleasant subharmonics, only to relax as soon as he had raised his head, realising that it was just an old friend.

"Garrus," Tali said as she embraced him tightly, "It's so good to see you."

"You too, Tali," Garrus replied as soon as she had released him from her arms, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I _am_ an Admiral, you know," Tali said as she placed her hands on her hips in mock arrogance, "Very well respected too, if I say so myself." She was wearing her suit, but only as a formality; as such, she wore no mask.

Thanks to the geth, the quarians no longer needed to constantly wear their suits. Before even a standard galactic year had passed after the war, the former nomads were living 'suitless' back on their homeworld, amongst the AI who had driven them out in the first place. Nowadays, only military personnel wore suits, while on duty or on official occasions.

" _Sure_ ," Garrus joked, "Next you'll be telling me that I'm the turian Councillor." This earned a chuckle from the younger quarian. It still seemed a little incredulous, even after all this time.

Over Tali's shoulder, Garrus caught sight of another old friend heading towards them in a beeline, trying his best not to just shove aside the crowd that was standing in his way. He couldn't help but twitch his mandibles in amusement.

Tali turned around after seeing the look on Garrus' face, "Wrex!" She held herself back from going for a hug though; Wrex didn't do hugs.

The krogan was wearing his ceremonial family armour, assumedly after some extensive and faithful repairing. It was bright white with red plates, quite honestly a little jarring when worn by someone like Wrex, who Garrus was so used to seeing donning deep crimson, but he wore it proudly.

"Tali. Garrus," Wrex cheerily gave them his textbook greeting, "What have you pyjaks been up to?"

"Lots of talking and arguing. Probably the same as your side, Overlord," Garrus replied, emphasising Wrex's title. As the man who had rallied all of the clans together to forge a future brighter than nuclear winter, Wrex was given the title of Supreme Overlord, the highest ranking official in the reformed krogan government. Well, he wasn't really _given_ the title; he'd bestowed it upon himself. "Politics on the Citadel involves a _little_ less head-butting though."

Wrex rumbled out a chuckle. "True," and then his face turned ever so slightly pale, "And less mating requests."

"Still that bad?" Tali asked teasingly.

"Ancients, you have no idea," Wrex groaned, "They just _keep_ coming."

"Well, I see that you're already enjoying your reprieve," Garrus said, nodding towards the glass of ryncol in Wrex's hand, ignoring the probably unintentional double entendre.

Wrex shrugged. "I never say no to ryncol, especially when it's this good. I guess only served the best stuff at places like these."

"Speaking of which," Tali asked, "Is that turian brandy?"  
"Triple filtered," Garrus replied, raising his glass.

"I'll be _right_ back," Tali said as she wandered off purposefully.

"Don't forget your Emergency Induction Port!" Garrus called after her teasingly before she disappeared into the crowd. He turned to his krogan friend, "So, how are things on your side, really? Keeping the clans in check?"

"I manage," Wrex replied thoughtfully, "Believe it or not, nowadays there's a lot less head-butting in krogan politics too. We actually _talk_ now, and it's not just the females. It's us too!" The gruff krogan almost sounded confused, as if he were a senile old man whose world had been turned upside down.

"I think that's a _good_ thing Wrex," Garrus assured, "There's enough fighting going on in the galaxy as –"

A loud gunshot echoed throughout the entire hall, closely followed by a pained shriek.

Both Garrus and Wrex lowered their heads on instinct and attempted to take whatever cover they could fine, the guest military officers doing the same. The civilians, however, were much less calm.

Panic spread like wildfire as C-Sec details came pouring into the midst of the danger, becoming body shields to high ranking individuals. Several more shots followed and soon all Garrus could hear was the shattering of glass, panicked shouting and furious stomping.

A swarm of C-Sec officers sprinted toward Garrus and Wrex, who guided the two of them, along with the rest of the crowd, down into a tight hallway.

"Spirits," Garrus shouted over the panicking crowd to Wrex as they all squeezed through the narrow space, "What happened?"

A nearby C-Sec officer replied in the krogan's stead when he shrugged in uncertainty, "There was a sniper on the building across, sir. We don't know much else at this point. This way." The officer guided them down a flight of stairs and through another hallway, bypassing several security scanners on the way; there was no time to waste on security checking the _targets_. Eventually they arrived at a room that Garrus recognised as an underground bunker.

It contained several couches and tables and was just big enough to fit the entire crowd inside, along with all of the security personnel. After the last of the VIPs had come inside the room, the heavy duty doors were shut and locked behind them; under the safety of the bunker, the panic somewhat subsided, only to be replaced by annoyance. It was beyond Garrus how ridiculous these people could be sometimes, and from what he knew of krogan expressions, Wrex was sharing the sentiment. He could overhear some of the other politicians swearing and complaining. He couldn't judge _too_ harshly, however; they were civilians, after all. One of them, Ban Orah, the salarian Deputy Councillor, approached him.

"What a damn mess," Orah muttered, "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Not really," Garrus replied, "Apparently it was a sniper." He addressed the officer from before, "Any casualties?"

"None have been identified so far, sir, although it _has_ been confirmed that the wounded have been carried offsite by medical personnel. The shooter was firing at those still inside the building."

"Good," Garrus said, although the situation was far from it, "Keep me updated." The officer nodded and returned to standing guard.

Orah stalked off, mumbling to himself about how much of a disaster this event had turned out to be. Garrus silently agreed, but he disapproved of the way the man was handling the situation. Mere frustration wasn't going to solve the problem at hand.

It was only when Garrus had given himself a moment to think about the potential implications of the day's happenings that he realised that his omnitool was receiving a call. It was Kasumi. Looking up and around, he found and headed straight for the bathrooms, leaving Wrex to continue looking around for Tali. He couldn't just converse with a known criminal in public. He found the bathroom entirely empty, which made things considerably easier. Going inside the cubicle farthest from the entrance, he answered the call on silent mode, which meant he had to put up his wrist to the side of his face. Better not risk getting overheard.

" _Finally_ ," Kasumi said as soon as he picked up, "I found what you were after."

"About Salini?" Garrus whispered.

"Yeah and it's not good. Salini _was_ providing weapons for the batarians on Khar'shan, but for _both_ sides."

Garrus gritted his teeth. She was more despicable than he had imagined. Still, the motives of her actions eluded him. What would she gain out of escalating a civil war? "Well at least now we know. Great work, Kasumi."

"That's only the beginning. There's something else, something possibly worse. I combed through all of the information I could find about her activities over the past several years. Mail, calls, scheduling, where she ate. You name it, I've looked through it all," Kasumi's voiced revealed a hint of pride, before returning to an uncharacteristically serious tone. "Garrus, I think she's indoctrinated."

The thief's words sent Garrus quickly spiralling down a well of confusion. It just wasn't possible, he thought. He _knew_. The Reapers were gone now, under Shepard's control. All Reaper troops and artifacts were collected and transported away by the capital ships, presumably off into dark space.

"Indoctrinated?" Garrus echoed, "You and I both know that can't be true."

"Trust me. I saw this pattern countless times during the Reaper War," Kasumi asserted, "Each individual has unique activity patterns, but one day, their routine suddenly changes as if they're a completely different person. They become more orderly, less sporadic."

Garrus didn't know what to say. If Salini really _was_ indoctrinated, why would Shepard do such a thing? Had his deepest fears become a reality? Had Shepard _completely_ lost herself when she'd attained control over the Reapers?

He just couldn't believe that it was true, but Kasumi was good. _Very_ good. "Alright. Keep a close eye on her and let me know if –"

Garrus was interrupted for the second time that day as blinding heat rushed towards him, a deafening blast slamming into him not soon after.


	7. Chapter 7

Garrus squinted his eyes under the painful brightness, blocking the light with his arms. He lay disoriented for a moment, before realising that he was lying in sand. Waves crashed in the distance, the cool water gently lapping at his feet. Leaning up, he was met with the view of a beach and the horizon in the far distance, marking the break between ocean and clear blue sky. The shoreline seemed to stretch on forever, both ways.

Garrus had no idea where he was and yet there was not a single bit of anxiety in his mind.

He _was_ curious, though. Turians didn't like beaches. There weren't many back on Palaven and water that was deep enough to reach your neck was dangerous for turians. He'd never understood what part of sand and water was so appealing to Shepard, but she'd always wanted to go one day, just the two of them.

 _Shepard_.

He now knew why he was here, at the beach. A figure appeared behind him, casting a shadow over where Garrus was sitting.

 _Shepard._

He turned around so quickly that he almost got whiplash, the bright sun blinding him once again as he looked up to face her, the woman he loved. They could finally be together, after all they'd been through; they had all of eternity, now.

"Your arrival, a little early," Mordin said, blinking rapidly. He was wearing his usual lab attire, a bright red bucket in his hand. He promptly took a seat in the sand, right next to Garrus, who was still staring at him with a blank expression. "Expecting someone else?"

"You could say that," Garrus mumbled, turning back to the horizon, "Don't tell me. Turians and salarians share the same heaven, but humans don't?"

Mordin didn't laugh but he was smiling widely, "Ah, yes. Shepard. Won't find her here."

"I need to see her, Mordin," Garrus said pleadingly, as if the salarian had the power to bring her into this reality. "I think we've both waited long enough."

Mordin played with the seashells in his bucket, stirring them around with his hand. "Selfish, but understandable. Still disappointed."

Garrus gave a tired chuckle, "So am I, truthfully. Thought I'd be able to keep the peace, protect the future that she gave us."

"Still a possibility. Not too late. Can still go back."

"I can?" Garrus blurted out. He hadn't expected that; the last thing he remembered was being caught in some sort of explosion.

Mordin nodded. He guessed it made a certain sort of sense. Somehow, deep down, Garrus knew this wasn't _really_ heaven and that this wasn't the real Mordin, which meant that his brain, in the _other_ world, must still be intact and at least somewhat functional, even in the worst case scenario.

"Alright," he admitted, "I can still go back, but for what? The galaxy's crumbling to pieces. How am _I_ supposed to stop that? It's not like I can just force people to stop fighting and play nice."

Mordin turned to face Garrus, who was looking down at the sand, "Have you tried?" The turian looked up to be met by the intense gaze of the doctor, a look so powerful that his mandibles fluttered involuntarily. "Not all options exhausted. Courses of action still remain, yet to be taken. Yet to be _considered_."

Garrus thought for a long moment, gazing at the vast expanse of calm waters. The wind was calm, cool air gently blowing into his face. "I know what has to be done. I'm going to save this damned galaxy whether it likes it or not."

"What Shepard would have done," Mordin said, the smile returning to his expression before it turned serious again, "Be careful. Path you will walk is a dangerous one. Easy to lose one self, as I once did."

Garrus took in one last look at the horizon, preparing to set out on the long journey that was ahead of him. "Thanks for the tip."

* * *

The sterile smell. The soft sheets. The beeping of machinery.

He was in a hospital, feeling groggy, as he struggled to open his eyes. The room was typically white, with a soft yellow light emanating from a glass cover in the ceiling.

He heard a faint voice, as if it were from a distance, his ears still unfocused.

"Doctor, he's awake." It was Verran standing at his bedside. "Doctor!"

He could twist his neck now, despite the stiffness, and he turned to see the asari nurse coming through the door, with several other personnel in tow, assumedly doctors from the long white coats they were wearing. They crowded around Garrus' bed.

"How are you feeling, sir?" one of them, another asari, asked while the others started scanning him with their omnitools.

His ears were clearing up now.

"Fine," he replied truthfully; other than feeling worn out, he actually felt alright.

"Good to hear," the doctor replied, "I'm Doctor Mavani, your head physician. You were caught in the blast radius of a terrorist bombing. You're _very_ lucky to be alive, sir. Relatively unscathed, too. You were only out for a little over two hours after they'd found you."

 _Terrorist bombing._ That woke him right up, his senses sharpening considerably.

"They found you under a pile of rubble, sir," Verran added with a strained chuckle, "Thank the Spirits you were in the bathroom."

Garrus' head felt almost dizzy with the amount of questions he had, but he prioritised the one he needed to have answered the most, "What happened to Overlord Wrex and Admiral Zorah?"

"They're in the intensive care unit, both still comatose. Admiral Zorah was hit in one of the initial volley of slugs and was carried offsite before the explosion. The shooter escaped the station, but he _was_ seen to be wearing Kavili armour." The Kavili was one of the batarian factions fighting it out on Khar'shan, the one pining for aggressive expansion into neighbouring systems. It was distinctively bright red, some sort of fear tactic, Garrus had always assumed; it was the color of their blood, after all. "The Overlord, on the other hand, was in the midst of the blast, but his armour had saved him."

It wasn't particularly good news. In fact, under normal circumstances, it would have been _terrible_ news, but Garrus couldn't be picky right now. He let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Who else survived?"

Verran fell silent for a moment, his mandibles fluttering nervously. "Sir," he paused again. "There were no other survivors."

"What?" Garrus blurted out the only thing that came to his mind, his eyes _wide_ open.

"There were no other survivors, sir," Veran repeated, this time a lot more firmly.

He turned back to the doctors, who averted his gaze as they continued to scan him from head to toe. "Well then give me the names of the acting Councillors. Who's in charge right now? Don't tell me there's no one left in the lines of succession. They couldn't have been _all_ killed."

The fundraiser event had been one of unprecedented importance, one which could have transformed the geopolitical climate and recovery efforts for decades to come, perhaps even centuries. Extraordinary circumstances called for extraordinary actions; _every_ member of the line of succession for _every_ race had been present at the party. It was a definite security threat, but at the heart of the Citadel and with so many C-Sec officers on guard duty, it had been deemed a necessary risk. The rewards to be reaped, whether personal or actually for the _people_ , had been too high.

"They were. Temporary representatives are being chased down as we speak, but I suspect that it'll take some time. No one really wants to take over at a time like this if they aren't obliged to, even if it does mean becoming one of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy."

So _he was_ the only acting Councillor? Garrus couldn't believe it. "Who was it? How did they do it?"

"They've been able to identify the shooter as a member of Karva, from Khar'shan, by the distinct helmet they were wearing." Garrus had heard of Karva, the diehard fanatics of the Kavili party, but the last time he checked they weren't much of a threat. More of a Terra Firma than a Cerberus. They wore helmets with horns jutting out from the sides; more fear tactics, he assumed. "As for the bombing, security recordings were captured via the cameras setup within the bunker interior," Verran replied grimly, "You might not believe it, sir, but it was Salini. The onsite forensics team think she had a bomb strapped on under her dress. C-Sec missed it –"

"Because we skipped past the scanners," Garrus finished as it struck him, his memory jogging back to the call with Kasumi, just before the explosion. _I think she's indoctrinated_.

It was almost too much to handle and his mind drifted back to the beach. He'd returned to this world, determined to make a change, determined to lead the people toward a better future, but this? It wasn't something Garrus was prepared to handle, not in the slightest.

 _It's not like I can just force people to stop fighting._

And then, an idea came to mind.

"Verran, go and get me my suit," he ordered as he dragged himself out of the bed, ignoring the doctors' protests. It _was_ a little painful, but it was nothing compared to anything that he'd experienced during the war.

"Sir, you've just awoken from a coma," Mavani interjected, all heads turning to face her, "I'm afraid I _must_ advise you to remain here at the hospital. There are still several tests we have to run, and our initial scans show you're only _barely_ healthy at best."

Mavani held her authoritative stance, although Garrus could tell how nervous the doctor was, standing up against a Citadel Councillor. Her boldness was commendable, he admitted silently.

"The red and gold one, sir?" Verran asked, turning back to his boss.

Garrus nodded, stretching slowly, testing the limitations of his body in its current state, feeling just how sore the sore spots got, "And organise a press conference. There's something I want the people to hear."

Verran left immediately after a curt nod.

The doctor remained silently in place, unsure how to react to her professional recommendation being essentially ignored. A top level physician on the Citadel with countless citations from medical boards all over the galaxy and a degree from Thessia's most prestigious university, she was entirely unused to this lack of care for her advice.

"Your recommendation has been noted, doctor," Garrus said, "But I have a galaxy to run."

* * *

Reporters swarmed the room as they fought over whatever space they could get, their camera drones all taking photos and vid recordings of a singular point in the room, of Garrus, who was standing above them all at the podium stand. There were no flashes, however; they were relics of the past.

Garrus did his best to stand straight, to exude power, despite his injuries. "As I am sure you are all aware by now, there was an attack made on the Citadel yesterday afternoon, at the Galactic Relief Efforts Fundraiser," he started, reading the speech off of the holodisplay floating in front of him. "The lives of countless men and women, servants of the public, were lost. May their spirits rest easy in the afterlife." He paused for effect. "This includes the _entire_ line of succession of Councillorship for every single Citadel race, excluding myself."

The entire room fell silent as the press members, even the veteran reporters, seemed to lose their breath. Good. The public needed to know that they were in real danger.

"The instigators of this attack were members of Karva, a pro-batarian fundamentalist group from Khar'shan, but not much else is known about them," Garrus lied. The public couldn't know the truth about Salini, and not even the people on _his_ side could know about her possible indoctrination. Not yet, anyways. "However, we have our best people working on the case. We _will_ find those responsible, and we _will_ make them pay for what they have done." He paused again, letting the gravity of his words sink in.

He'd given them the result, now he had to get them to acknowledge the root cause of the problem.

"However, who are we truly to blame?" he asked rhetorically to the public, to the millions, perhaps billions of people who were no doubt tuning in to the live broadcast. _The politicians who sat around and waited for the galaxy's problems to solve themselves, who fought for their own gain and not for their people's._ "We had become complacent, passive. We'd waited, when we should have acted. And that has cost us a great many number of lives, both on this day and those which preceded it. The current government has _failed_ to bring peace and prosperity to its people." Garrus clenched his fist into a ball so that it was visible to the cameras, showing off his anger to the public. They had to empathise with him, they had to understand where he was coming from, in order to accept what he was about to tell them.

"No longer will the terrorists have free reign. No longer will the people of the Citadel be forced to live in fear. No longer will we stand by, waiting for the enemy to strike. They _already_ have. Today marks a day of change, a call for action."

He'd presented the problem, now it was time to present the solution. The reporters braced; for what, they didn't really know.

"I hereby call for a Vote of Executive Action," Garrus announced. Some of the press members wore confused expressions, while others knew _exactly_ what was happening.

"I, Garrus Vakarian, will bear the title of High Councillor of the Citadel and Supreme Commander of her armed forces. I will be the highest level of command with the ability to authorize executive orders myself, individually."

This caused an audible stir in the crowd, despite the typically strict 'no talking' protocol.

The Vote required the support of _all_ of the Councillors, so by tradition, those who were against it were asked to speak up; if _any_ of the Councillors disagreed, the Vote was not passed. "Those not in favour, let yourselves be heard," Garrus announced as part of the official proceedings, although the result was already clear. _He_ was the only active Councillor.

He waited for a few token moments and let the silence speak for itself, before continuing, "The Vote has been passed. As my first action as the High Councillor, I hereby give an executive order authorizing the deployment of the Citadel Peacekeeping Fleet into batarian space, chiefly concentrated on Khar'shan. Furthermore, there will be a galaxy wide manhunt for the terrorist shooter responsible for the initial on site attack. Thank you and may the Spirits guide us in these turbulent times."

As soon as he had finished his speech the reporters were already throwing a barrage of questions at him, all of which he dodged by going off stage, flanked by his now even larger security detail. The doors closed behind him, drowning out the sea of voices. Away from the public eye, Garrus allowed himself to limp.

Verran joined him at his side as they walked down the halls of the Citadel tower, looking more than a little uncertain.

"I'm not going to let innocent civilians pay the price for political incompetency," Garrus said firmly, "We have to take control, Verran. We have to pave the way forward to the future." That was what he had told himself, right before the speech, but there was no going back now. The only way was forward, and there was no room for doubt. All he had to rely on was his own conviction.

Verran remained silent for a moment as they made their way toward his office. There was another matter he needed to take care of. Vega was still out there, _somewhere_ , and he needed to extract him.

"I'm with you, sir, until the very end," Verran said shortly with an intense look in his eyes as they arrived at Garrus' office door, where his security detail remained at guard.

"Good," Garrus replied simply, "I need you to organise a meeting with Admiral Vaxus as soon as possible. Bring him here if you can." Vaxus was the Admiral currently responsible for the Peacekeeping Fleet.

"Of course. He'll be at your door within the hour." Verran strode off quickly, looking determined.

Garrus opened the door; inside, Gaila was standing at attention, presumably waiting for him to arrive. "Good evening, High Councillor," she said gracefully, eyes glued to the walls opposite.

"At ease, Gaila. This isn't the military, you know," Garrus replied, admittedly a little amused, as he walked past her to the door that connected the reception to his officer proper. She remained standing until the doors closed behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Native to the harsh world of Palaven, the drasket was an avian predator that first evolved out of Gallax, a continent once only sparsely specked with cool areas very far apart from each other. Their ancestors, the lathras, had once dominated one of these habitable areas, breeding and multiplying so freely that eventually there were not enough worms to feed the entire population. Here, the fittest lathras had created a fork in the evolutionary tree. Those that were the fastest were able to get to the worms first, but those that were not were forced to venture out into the heat, where plenty of prey crawled and slithered under a cool layer of sand, and they became the drasket.

Those that did neither died out, leaving only the top predatory DNA to be passed down the generations, and as resources dwindled, the draskets' travelling distances increased. In a matter of a few million years, the draskets were capable long range hunters, flying for hundreds of kilometres at a time before having to return to their nests.

Fittingly, the Drasket was also the name of a long range unmanned space vehicle developed by one of the largest and particularly loyal defence contractors the Hierarchy worked with. Hailed as a 'marvel of engineering' throughout galactic civilisation, Draskets could be remote controlled across the galaxy, were compact and hard to detect, and with an incredulously efficient drive core, they were perfect for use in clandestine operations. Donnelly had raved on and on about it for hours on end back on the Normandy.

Personally, Garrus preferred killing big things with big guns.

"Drasket 1, approaching waypoint Vanas," the drone pilot announced as she flew the expensive machine with steady hands, made possible thanks only to the careful engineering of comm buoys. The young turian lieutenant and her partner, responsible for the armament and equipment of the vehicle, were sitting side by side at what looked almost identical to the training simulators that future pilots used at flight academies.

"Raise your altitude by two klicks and standby, Drasket 1," General Banin ordered, his mandibles tightening towards his jaw, to which the pilot promptly acknowledged and sent the drone flying in a circle, high above into the sky. Banin looked tense, and Garrus didn't blame him; it couldn't be easy being mission coordinator for something like this. "Fireteams one and two, what's your status?" the general inquired over his headset.

Garrus could hear the tension in the subharmonics of each team leader as they called back over the comms that they were ready and standing by at their designated waypoints. The communications were connected up to the sound system set up in the room, so that all of the personnel present had a perfectly clear understanding about the mission's happenings.

Banin continued to do the final checks before the all-important strike, when Garrus whispered into Hackett's ear, "The intel's solid?"

The older admiral looked offended, amused and concerned, all at the same time. "Of course, Councillor. We have our best over at Naval Intelligence working on this case. Remember, before he became a Spectre, he was an N7, and we take care of our _own_." Hackett replied almost pointedly. "I'd have this mission sanctioned by the Alliance if it weren't for the bureaucracy," he added.

"Trust me, I know that feeling better than I'd like to admit. Sometimes there just isn't enough time."

Hackett nodded, "They move him every one and a half standard days. He would have been long gone by the time the paperwork had been filled out to get an extraction mission on foreign soil properly approved."

The Hierarchy military worked differently to the Alliance's. Any general, admiral or higher could get a mission instantly sanctioned by their Defence Council, no questions asked; there was no extensive paperwork or delay. The system relied on the competency and good judgement of its officers. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but today it was definitely an advantage.

Hackett looked over Garrus' shoulder and towards Banin. "General, our intelligence confirms that Deepwater is being held in the warehouse on the eastern sector of the village." Hackett's eyes went back to the wall of displays, each one connected to various helmet and UAV cameras. At the centre of the wall was a holographic display, which lit up to show a three-dimensional schematic of the warehouse, underneath which a long tunnel like structure was highlighted in red. "That's the tunnel that they'll use to escape."

"Typical batarian guerrilla tactics," Primarch Victus pondered aloud, as if to announce his entrance. "I apologise for my lateness. I had to deal with a trio of hanar diplomats and the Councillor himself. Or _herself_." His subharmonics trembled thoughtfully, "You can never really tell with them."

"Drasket 1, let's get a better visual on the southwest of the village … there," Banin said as he pointed a finger towards the part of a display upon which a congregation of people could be seen, and one of the other larger displays on the wall gave a zoomed in view of the area. "Is it some sort of festival? Run facial recognition if you can."

Several batarian families stood in a circle around a woman, all of whom were dancing and clapping, albeit solemnly, assumedly to some music that was playing, although from where Garrus was standing all he could hear was the whirring of equipment. "The woman in the middle," Garrus mused aloud, "Her dress looks different to the others'."

"It's a funeral," Hackett muttered, "She must be the widow." The other two men looked at the admiral questioningly. Hackett's eyes remained glued to the displays.

"Sir, we have a 92 percent match on Chorn Varag," the drone pilot chimed in, "The man closest to the woman in the centre." The display zoomed in on him, wearing ceremonial robes and in the middle of some chant. The camera was shaky, but even without the facial recognition software Garrus could tell it was almost definitely Varag, or Buccaneer, as they called him.

"The Spirits are with us today," Banin said as he crossed his arms, "Varag can be our decoy. Drasket 1, open fire on Buccaneer when you have a lock."

The drone gunner was about to give his acknowledgement, when Garrus interjected, "Belay that order, lieutenant." The gunner froze and, unsure of what to do, craned his neck back for guidance, only to see two superior officers glaring at each other with more fire than Trebia itself in their eyes.

"Councillor, what do you think you're doing?" Banin managed, his rage barely in check.

"You can't be serious, Banin. The collateral's too high," Garrus replied, equally outraged.

"Varag is one of the most wanted criminals in the Traverse," Banin marched slowly towards Garrus until they were breathing down each other's necks. "He's orchestrated countless bombings, making him responsible for the mass murdering of hundreds of civilians, many of them turian. This is the first we've seen of him in over a decade!"

"Sir, I have a good lock on Buccaneer, but he's on the move. Making his way towards …" the gunner paused, "It looks like a hatch."

The gunner was right; Garrus could see Varag peeling himself away from the circle while the others continued the ceremony.

"It's the entrance to an underground tunnel, and only God knows where it leads," Hackett muttered, "They could have an entire network down there. If he gets in, we lose him."

"We know from the Alliance's intelligence that there are other locations, _empty,_ that would work just as well as a decoy," Garrus declared with composure, still staring down at the general, "I won't say it again. Stand down."

" _This_ is a mission sanctioned by the Hierarchy Defence Council and _we_ are standing in the turian embassy. My authority here supersedes yours completely." Banin pointed at Garrus warningly, "You're overstepping, Vakarian."

"I'm afraid he's right, Councillor," Hackett chimed in almost apologetically, "Legally, we might as well be on Palaven right now."

In a last ditch attempt, Garrus looked to Victus, who had been silent this whole time, but all he got out of the man was an apologetic nod and with a hint of regret in his subharmonics, "The Hierarchy's needs must come first."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Garrus turned away from the displays, head hung in despair.

"Drasket 1, you may fire when ready," ordered Banin. Within moments the gunner had taken the shot, making the announcement that missiles were away. The general turned to Garrus. "What happened to you, Vakarian? You spent too much time on that ship of yours, forgot what it means to be a turian?"

Garrus looked back at the general, fury still ablaze in his eyes, "What do _you_ know about being a turian? There is no honour in this, no pride to be taken."

"You of all people should know how full of falsehoods those children's tales are," Banin replied, not with anger, but what Garrus could have sworn was a flicker of weariness. "Come back to reality."

"Impact in five seconds," the gunner updated as the rest of the room remained in silent anticipation.

Garrus noticed Hackett tighten his hands clasped behind his back. Not much could be read on the man's face, however. His attention went back to the screens as what was once showing the image of a communal ceremony was replaced by a flash and then a cloud of dust and dirt.

"Good hit," declared the gunner, "We have a good hit."

Banin was right; there was no glory in war. He had already known that, at one point.

"Stand by, Drasket 1. Confirm the kill when you get a better visual," Banin ordered, before tapping onto the comms. "Fireteams one and two, Deepwater should be getting evacuated through those tunnels. Stand by at the northern and southern exits and prepare for contact."

After a quick acknowledgement, each team held defensive positions at their respective exits. From the integrated helmet camera streams, Garrus could see what each and every soldier was looking at. Right now, all of their barrels were aimed down the tunnel, ready for any sort of hostile movement.

Minutes passed filled with nothing but the screams of civilians and militia in the distance. Garrus could make out the cries of a young batarian, probably a girl, wailing for the whereabouts of her mother. Banin was becoming increasingly tense, his mandibles fluttering in agitation. "You're _sure_ that the intel is good, admiral?"

Slightly annoyed, Hackett crossed his arms tightly, "They will come, Banin. I assure you." His expression betrayed the confidence in his words.

"Contact," the lieutenant finally said over the radio, his low light visor revealing the sight of four figures walking towards them through the dark tunnel. The one in the middle stood out; with a hunched posture and clear malnourishment, the man was bound by omnicuffs at his hands and feet, forcing him to waddle. The camera zoomed in on his face. "This is Fireteam one, we have visual on Deepwater."

"Fireteam one, you are cleared to engage and extract Deepwater. Fireteam two, break formation and proceed to the rendezvous," Banin ordered as they watched on through the ordeal, powerless in that moment. All they could do now was watch on, with faith in the ground team's abilities.

Garrus could feel the fireteam steeling themselves as the batarians approached at a steady pace. They drew nearer and nearer. The lieutenant gave the signal. He threw a flashbang. Several, precision rounds were discharged. Three batarians crumpled to the ground. And then it was over.

Clean and efficient; it was textbook Hierarchy special ops.

Once the tunnel was cleared, the team rushed toward the captive, who was wobbling on his feet and looking as if he would keel over at any moment. The lieutenant grabbed him before the man lost his balance. "Commander Vega, we're here to get you out."


	9. Chapter 9

**Re-uploading this chapter because there were a few too many grammatical/spelling mistakes. Sorry.**

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Various equipment made steady noises as they kept track of Vega's vitals; he lay there unconscious in the hospital bed, looking atypically stringy and weak. Garrus found it unnerving, seeing such a man look so vulnerable. The room was spacious, and with a large viewing window along the wall facing the Presidium, soft brightness filled the air. He imagined that Vega would interject, claiming that a space station's artificial lighting was _nothing_ if compared to bathing under the rays of a real star. Garrus would agree; he missed Palaven's.

Verran interrupted his thoughts. "He'll need a full debriefing," he muttered quietly, as if talking to himself.

"He needs his _rest_ , first," Garrus asserted, "Spirits know the man's earned it." He'd heard and read enough accounts of those who had been made captives of Karva to have more than just an idea of what sort of hell Vega must have endured. "Make sure the others know this too. I don't want anyone bothering him until he's ready to talk."

By _'others'_ , he was referring to the Councillors, the Alliance brass and whoever else that might want to attack the soldier with a barrage of questions.

"The guards already know not to let any non-medical personnel have access to him without your permission," Verran said. He'd done that the moment the injured soldier had been rolled into Huerta Memorial; Garrus would need to obtain, confidently and exclusively, any intelligence that Vega had to offer. It was better not to rely on the discretion of a man who had undoubtedly gone through extreme trauma, and instead to keep him away from prying eyes. Equally or perhaps more relevant, was the _personal_ connection between the two war buddies; Verran knew how much Garrus cared for his people. Vega meant more than a mere pawn to him.

"Good," Garrus approved as he continued staring down at his old friend, so still that he would have thought that the man had died. He swore to himself that he would see to it that Vega regain his health and get back onto his own two feet. He was sick of watching those close to him die; he wasn't going to let it happen again. But he couldn't spend too much time on sentiment; the galaxy would fall apart without him. "So, you were telling me about those mining companies?" he asked as he made his way to the door.

Following his boss out of the room, Verran took out the datapad he had tucked in his jacket. He opened up a news article and handed it over to Garrus. Four members of the councillor's security detail surrounded them immediately as they entered the hallway.

" _Public Eezo Goes Private: Boom Imminent?'_ " the older man read aloud as he skimmed through the article. The journalist, in passionate writing, talked about several eezo mining companies aggressively expanding into batarian space under the leadership of new executives, replacements of those who had died at what the was now being called the Citadel Bombing. He grimaced at the thought that some of them had undoubtedly been celebrating at the news of the terror attack. He remembered the fresh new eezo mines that even the batarians had just found for themselves, the ones that Vega had gathered intel for him about.

Ever since the batarians had joined the galactic community, they had kept their eezo to themselves, locked away from the other races. Not even the majority of their citizens could get their hands on the resource; all trade involving eezo had been heavily nationalised, regulated and controlled by the Hegemony. That way, all of the players at the top got to stay there; the one with the full canteen has _all_ the power in a desert.

Now, things were different; they had to be.

Garrus and the other Councillors had come up with the _Cultural Resuscitation Program,_ when he had _strongly_ suggested that prolonged peace couldn't be secured with temporary military occupation of batarian space. The costs, in terms of both finance and public opinion, would be too heavy were they to install a permanent military presence on Khar'shan. Which lead to only one solution; they had to change the Hegemony at the core. They had even gotten Hegemon Gadar to agree to their terms, with strong persuasion from the new batarian Councillor, Karn, who in turn had been coerced into it by Garrus. Trade embargos were lifted and borders were opened; within several weeks the batarians were watching legal copies of the newest Fleet and Flotilla with ice cold Astro-Fizzes in their hands. The companies selling those products were reaping the benefits, of course, and so were the citizens of the Hegemony; they had made sure that the public would see it that way. Just another form of spectacle; taking 'societal invasion', packaging it and selling it to them as 'cultural enlightenment'.

That kept them distracted from the _real_ game changers; real estate, defence contracting and, of course, energy. Honestly, Garrus couldn't think of anything better than what they had come up with, so he forced himself to ignore how uncomfortable it made him.

"So, some mining companies are expanding into batarian space. What about it?" Garrus asked. The news that the article detailed had been expected; the Cultural Resuscitation Program was started with gaining better influence within the Hegemony in mind, and having a large stake in its energy market would do just that.

"Look at the _names_ of the companies," Verran answered as he pushed the elevator button.

Garrus brought his eyes back down to the datapad, searching for the answer his subordinate alluded to. _Vanus Corporation, RTL-Tireen, the Alehnia Group_. His eyes widened at the realization; _all_ _asari_. He looked back up to Verran, who returned a confirming nod, careful not to speak about their matters too openly in front of their security detail, no matter how trusted.

"They got in first, almost _immediately_ after the Program was rolled out. Shut out their competitors," Verran said thoughtfully, allowing Garrus to step inside the elevator first as it arrived, before following. "Makes you wonder if they'd already been preparing for it," he continued suggestively. The security detail poured in after them, the spaciousness of the elevator leaving plenty of room between them.

It may have just been coincidence or it may have been a leak that the asari companies took advantage of, but Garrus wasn't willing to bet the safety of the galaxy on a 'maybe'. In fact, he would rather bet that _this_ had been Salini's plan all along. If that were the case, _and_ she had been indoctrinated just as Kasumi had said, it could have dangerous implications on the situation at hand. If the former asari councillor had really been under the control of the Reapers, they wouldn't have let her die without having extra pieces in play.

Garrus felt his weight return normal as the elevator slowed down its descent, stopping at the lobby leading out into the Presidium. "Organise a meeting with Gianna Parasini for me," he said, "She just _might_ be able to help us here." His voice trailed off as he saw two men in Alliance blues, each with an air of authority around them, approaching from the opposite end of the lobby. He already had a good idea what, _or who_ , they were here for.

"Councillor Vakarian, Mister Kol," Admiral Hackett greeted them with a nod.

"Admiral," Garrus returned, and then turned to his old shipmate, "Alenko."

Kaidan, who looked a little tense, let up a thin smile, "Vakarian. It's been a while." The man wore his uniform well, the stars on his shoulders glimmering slightly under the lights. "I'd imagine that being the showrunner's been keeping you pretty busy."

"It's not all bad. No more grunt work," Garrus joked, "That's Verran's job now." The four of them shared an almost obligatory laugh, Alenko not pulling it off quite as well as the others. "How are things on your end?"

Kaidan opened his mouth to speak, but the admiral answered in his stead, "The general has been heading a _number_ of special ops missions. He's been quite successful, actually."

It felt strange, hearing praise of Kaidan's leadership; Garrus had never really seen him as much of one, but he guessed it was only natural. Shepard tended to outshine the abilities of those around her in terms of leading, something she had actually confided in him as a concern of hers; what if, by serving under her command, some of her crew were being held back? He'd told her that she was being ridiculous, of course; personally, serving under Shepard had taught him only the most valuable lessons one could ever learn.

Praising their star child in public only made sense though, Garrus guessed. The Alliance wouldn't pass up such a doubly beneficial deal; by promoting Alenko to the rank of major general, they were getting the most out of his skillset _and_ his political value. With a Spectre as a high ranking officer, they were able to take advantage of the legal leeway that came with the title. On the other hand, by ensuring that Alenko didn't climb up the ladder too high, the brass would be able to avoid having their affairs meddled with by the Council through their authority over the Spectre's actions. The man wouldn't be promoted to a full-fledged general any time soon.

"I see," Garrus said, "I always knew you'd be a strong leader, Alenko."

Kaidan nodded and showed a smile that looked earnest, if not a little anxious. "Thanks. That's why I'm here, actually." He straightened his posture. "I'd like to check up on Commander Vega, see how he's doing. I've read the reports already, but seeing him in person would really put my mind at ease."

Garrus had known that it was what they were here for, but it was difficult to reject them in any case; he was an old friend, after all, and he knew what it felt like to have someone under your command getting seriously hurt. He gave a sigh, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that the commander is being sequestered under the Council's authority. The only people who have access to him are the medical personnel and security who are responsible for his well-being."

" _And you two,_ " Hackett added pointedly, his stare suddenly becoming dangerously close to a lethal glare, "Like I said before, councillor, Vega is one of the Alliance's own. You can't just deny us access to one of our people."

"Unless he were a criminal," Garrus replied, "Unless Vega had been accused of something, maybe money laundering, on the Citadel, and he'd been given unfairly disproportionate treatment."

Kasumi had been more than happy to help out in that part; countless cases of white collar crime went on unsolved each and every day, so it was only a matter of finding one which had occurred before Vega's deployment, and getting the master criminal to make it appear as if he had committed it. Almost all white collar crime was digital, and with such a complex information network, it was equally as difficult to convict someone for committing one, as it was to prove that they were not guilty.

Alenko looked confused, Hackett was fuming. "We framed him," Verran interjected in a whisper, trying not to let his subharmonics betray how wrongly smug he felt, "And we labelled him as a potential threat to the station's security."

"So he's officially under our detainment until he regains his health," Garrus continued apologetically, very well aware of the ethical ambiguity of his actions. He wouldn't have done this had there been any other conceivable way to guarantee Vega's well-being; he could order the other councillors under his command to stay away from the officer, but the _other_ party of interest, the Alliance, he had no authority over. "When Vega recovers, we'll give him a full pardon. The public knows nothing, of course, so it'll be as if this never happened. I suggest you keep it that way unless you want to tarnish the commander's career."

Alenko, now in understanding of what had happened, wore an expression of resignation rather than anger. "Well, at least it'll keep him safe."

"What? And we _can't_?" Hackett blurted out, shocked by his subordinate's lack of repulsion. He then turned back to Garrus. " _Don't_ think you can pull off something like this and get away with it. We'll be coming for you."

"With all due respect, sir," Kaidan interjected firmly, "If he _is_ already under the protection of the Council, it may just be a better idea to let this be, instead of fighting them on this. Isn't that what we want after all? For the man to be safe?"

Garrus was surprised at what could be taken as insubordination on Alenko's part; he never would have expected that from someone so fiercely loyal to the Alliance.

"You're out of line, _general_ ," Hackett reprimanded, his voice husky in an attempt to cloak the anger so as to not draw any unwanted attention. "You'll be hearing from our legal branch, councillor. Good day." And with that, the admiral spun around and stalked off, the three of them watching as he disappeared into the crowd.

A few moments passed as the three men stood in silence, surrounded by the crowd oblivious to what had happened in front of them. Kaidan let out a heavy sigh, before turning back to Garrus. "You free for a drink right now?" he asked tiredly.

Caught off guard, Garrus couldn't help his mandibles from fluttering. "Sure," he replied simply.


End file.
